


One Hundred Letters

by CreativeReading



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 09:47:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13245654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeReading/pseuds/CreativeReading
Summary: Set after The Last Jedi. With Spoilers for The Last Jedi. Leia has to contact the families of those who have fallen.





	One Hundred Letters

For Leia, grief had become a constant companion.

Han's death had hit her like a blow, like a punch in the gut that took her breath away.

Luke's death had come in waves as she felt his life slowly ebbing away, sacrificing himself for the Resistance, for her, for Rey, for all of them. For the possibility of hope to survive.

Every morning, Leia had a moment or two when she awoke and didn't remember. A few stolen seconds of peace before the weight and burden of her sorrow settled on her shoulders for the day.

She walked slowly into her makeshift office, a tiny room, hidden on the far side of their newly founded base. They'd fled to a distant system where there were still a few scattered allies to offer them sanctuary. Life was starting to take on a semblance of normalcy as the rest of the Resistance fighters regrouped and started their meager recruiting efforts. The First Order was uniformly hated, but not easily defied.

She closed the door behind her and sat at the large wooden desk with uneven legs and mysterious stains. It was the best they could cobble together and even then, she seemed to get a splinter every time her hand touched it.

She looked at the pile of stationery in front of her, heavy cream-colored pages, carefully stacked at the far corner of her desk.

One hundred sheets representing one hundred lives.

Early on, she'd made a promise to herself. No matter how many casualties they suffered, no matter how many lives were lost, she would always write a personal letter to the loved ones of those who had passed away. There were other ways of conveying messages, to be sure, but a handwritten letter had two advantages. One, it was personal, connecting the writer to the recipient in a tangible, concrete way.

The second reason was that it wasn't traceable. No transmission that could be linked back to the Resistance. No way to easily determine its point of origin.

Not every parent, sibling, or spouse was an ardent supporter of the Resistance. Some of them were terrified that being linked to a freedom fighter would rain down terror and horror on the rest of their family. Some of them had disowned their loved ones when they found out that they openly opposed the First Order.

But Leia, more than anyone else, knew that your child could break your heart, shatter your soul into bits, and you'd still want to know what happened to them. You'd still love them, even when they tore out your heart right in front of you. She owed it to every single family to let them know that their loved one wasn't coming home ever again.

Her eyes flicked over to her calligraphy set, a mirror image of Ben's. She'd bought two sets on a whim at a tiny open-air market on some bustling trading planet whose name she could no longer remember. Ben barely knew how to write when she bought them, his round little fingers fumbling with the ink, spraying it everywhere as he tried to form the letters. Patiently, night after night, she sat with him, guiding his tiny hands over the parchment, encouraging him every step of the way.

It almost physically hurt to recall the memory, the bitter mixing with the sweet.

She swallowed hard and reached over to the tablet next to the stationery, a list of one hundred names and photos waiting for her.

There was a short rap on her door.

"Come in," she managed, her voice low and raspy as she turned in her seat to see the door swinging open behind her.

Poe strode through the door, a bright smile on his face. Leia couldn't help but grin. He reminded her of a mixture of Han and Luke, cockiness and a devotion to the Resistance all rolled into one.

"Uh . . . they said you needed me," he said, stopping a few feet in front of her.

"Take a seat." She motioned to the low three-legged stool to her left, the only other piece of furniture in the room.

He sat down on the tiny seat that creaked and groaned under his weight, looking like a child about to be scolded.

"I have a task for you . . . .," she began.

"Anything," he interrupted. "You name it."

"Never volunteer for something that you don't know the cost of," she said, a bit sharper than she'd intended.

"Okay . . . what is it?"

"Part of the responsibility of command is contacting family members when someone dies under your command."

Poe's face fell. "Look, I know what happened with the dreadnaught . . . ."

She held up a hand, shaking her head. "This isn't a punishment. This is not me trying to teach you a lesson or trying to make you feel bad or guilty. This is a part of life. It's a part of command. You lead people; you care for your troops; you make sure that their families know when they pass away." She set the tablet on the desk between them and counted out fifty sheets of paper, plunking them down in front of him. "You take half and I'll take the other half."

He took up a pen and stared at the first blank page for a good long while before setting it back down. "I . . . I don't know what to write."

She gave him a benevolent smile, and took his hand, giving it a brief squeeze. "No one ever does. To be honest, the reason that I make them attach photos to each name is that people come and go here so often that sometimes . . . I don't recognize the names. The faces . . . yes . . . always the faces . . . but not the names." She took a deep breath. "If this year has taught me anything, it's that life is fleeting. Han is gone. Luke's gone. Who knows how long I'll be here?"

"General . . ." He began, but she shook her head again.

"I know. I wish I could stay forever, too. But, part of being a leader is finding new leaders to take over once you're gone, training them in all aspects of command, even the most unpleasant ones. It's your turn to share this burden with me. And . . . someday, you'll do this all by yourself."

Poe's eyes widened at that and he squared his shoulders as he returned to the blank page. "Thanks . . . for believing in me."

She gave him a small smile before returning to her work. "Thank you for believing in us."

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note- This is my first fan fic in a year and a half, so please be gentle. I'm easing myself back into writing. And yes, it's probably not canon compliant since I've only watched The Last Jedi once.
> 
> If you liked it, could you let me know in a review? Thanks!


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